Margot preferred a “quick thing,” a rousing gallop. Lionel hoped that this would be forthcoming. Meanwhile, he dwelt affectionately upon the superlative merits of certain tufters who knew their job. Really, to enjoy hunting in the Forest, it was necessary to watch individual hounds, whether good or bad. The duffers of the pack running a fresh deer told the tale of a false scent as unerringly as the body of the pack lagging behind, with heads up, mutely protesting. His enthusiasm infected Margot as he talked on about the arts and crafts of deer. She didn’t know that buckhounds were big foxhounds, with inherited instincts to hunt foxes instead of deer, instincts which had to be whipped and rated out of them. Some of the field remained with the pack. Lionel explained this. A “tuft” might be better fun than the hunt afterwards, and _vice versâ_. With one horse out, unless he happened to be a clinker, it was sound policy to keep him fresh for the hunt proper. Meanwhile, they had reached the spot where the herd of bucks had been harboured that morning—the “great” buck, a smaller five-year-old, and two prickets. Lionel pointed out their slots to Margot. The Master, leaving the green ride, waved his tufters into the woodland. Lionel trotted on to a corner which commanded two rides. “We may see the deer cross,” he said. “There is no prettier sight, except when we rouse them in the open.” A hound spoke in cover. “That’s old Sportsman,” said the Squire, who had joined them. “I’ll nip on to the next ride.” The rest of the field hung about with Lionel. The horses, very fresh, and full of corn, fidgeted and pulled at their bits. “There they go.” The herd crossed the ride some fifty yards away, Music arose behind them. “Now comes the real job,” said Lionel to Margot. “That big buck must be separated from the herd, and driven, if possible, into the open. Then he will gallop away fast and far, making his point. Meanwhile, he’ll try every dodge known to his tribe.” An excellent and typical tuft followed. The “great” buck, an old deer with finely palmated horns, left the others, but refused to break cover. He prodded up an outlying deer and lay down in its couch, he took to a “gutter” and travelled down it, he found some does and ran with them for a few minutes. Margot saw “the real right thing” and was properly impressed. A whistle came from the whip on ahead. “He’s away,” said Lionel, galloping on. They reached the edge of the cover just in time to see the buck trotting over the Salisbury Road, heading for the finest galloping ground in the Forest. The tufters followed. “Hold hard, old boys!” roared the whip. The Master, very hot and red in the face, emerged from the woodlands. He collected his tufters and jogged back with them to the pack, about half a mile distant. The Squire joined Lionel.